Focus
by phantomeyeswriter
Summary: When Charlie's genius mind can't keep up with his responsibilities, he turns to another source for help, putting himself and those around him at risk. WARNING: Mentions drug use.
1. Chapter 1

**Who still loves Numb3rs? Me! I do! That's why I'm releasing this new story. (Yes, a year later and I finally wrote something new.) It will be short-ish. There is mention of drug use and some graphic descriptions of crime scenes. Now you have been warned. With that being said, please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters and all that. You've read this a million times in other stories. It's the same for me.**

**\- O -**

Part 1: Reason

Larry stared at the newspaper. It had been years since he'd read a paper. He didn't normally subscribe to this form of news. He gleaned most information by word-of-mouth. If there was something important going on, he'd hear about it without resorting to a newspaper. The story he currently consumed was one such piece of news. Larry had been handed this particular section of the newspaper by a colleague who knew he'd want to read the obituary.

As Larry stared at the picture of the young woman, he thought back to his class. Katie Shelley had started the semester as another average student. But as the weeks progressed, she steadily rose above the mediocre. Her work was extraordinary. Larry found himself looking forward to reading her papers. Her ideas made the impossible sound possible. Not since Charlie had Larry found such untapped potential in a student. Once it was determined that Katie wasn't cheating or plagiarizing, rumors began to circulate about her future. Government and private aerospace firms had already contacted Katie about hiring her to work at their companies, several offering bonuses at the interviews. All this and she was still several semesters away from graduation. She had such potential. Too much potential to see it end in tragedy.

The obituary said Katie died of an overdose. Larry tried to remember if he had seen any signs that she was struggling with drugs. After years of teaching, Larry seen his share of students develop addictions. He understood that the pressures of college could be overwhelming. Larry knew what to look for and when to intervene. He couldn't remember seeing any of the usual red flags in Katie's case. Maybe he was losing his touch, getting too old for teaching.

Sighing, Larry set the paper aside and gazed out the window. Perhaps the time had come to invest his talents in another field. Perhaps Katie's loss was the sign Larry needed to move on. Poor Katie. So much potential. It was truly a tragedy.

\- O -

Charlie stared at the pile of work mounting on his desk. He couldn't remember ever having this much to do. His father always warned him about taking on too much, and for the first time, Charlie wished he had heeded that warning.

Finals were less than a month away and Charlie still hadn't finished grading midterms. He still had to review some work for a paper he was co-writing with a professor from MIT. Now he stared blankly at the open doorway that Don had just exited through after dropping off case files. He didn't have a clue how he was going to get through all this work.

Then there was the unfortunate announcement of the loss of one of CalSci's students. Charlie hadn't known Katie Shelley personally, but he remembered Larry talking about her. She produced brilliant work and was already getting offers from prestigious organizations. Charlie remembered his own experience as an undergrad, the pressure placed on him due to his genius. If only he'd been able to talk to Katie Shelley, maybe this tragedy could have been avoided.

Charlie was still staring into the hallway when Milly appeared in the doorway, smiling and holding a stack of papers. She caught the distant expression on Charlie's face and clucked disapprovingly.

"Professor Eppes, not too busy I presume."

Charlie opened his mouth to correct her when she dropped the papers on his crowded desk.

"Congratulations. You get to head this year's scholarship committee. These are essays from the applicants. I just need you to read through each one and select the top three."

It was several seconds before Charlie realized his mouth was hanging open. He quickly closed it and looked at Milly's stern smile.

"Milly, I really don't have time right now."

The smiled waivered but the sternness in Milly's eyes was steady. Charlie knew there was no way he was talking the division chair into letting him out of this assignment.

"Dr. Eppes, if you can't find the time to help our future students, you may need to rethink your priorities. I've been lenient about letting you consult for the FBI, but if your extracurricular activities start interfering with your duties at the university, we may need to renegotiate your contract."

Charlie sighed. He'd been in this situation before and knew it was better to simply do whatever Milly wanted than to try and argue – no matter how wrong she may be.

"You're right, Milly. When do you need the essays?"

Milly's smile widened again. "I knew you'd come around. Get them to me by Monday."

"That will take the entire weekend. There must be at least fifty essays in that stack," Charlie moaned, placing a hand on his forehead. He could feel the beginnings of a stress headache.

"Fifty-three. And you get an extra half day to finish them if you start now." Milly smiled again and strode from the room.

Charlie groaned and leaned back in his chair. Of all the people demanding his time, he tried to think who would be the least disappointed come Monday when he didn't have their project finished.

The MIT professor might drop Charlie as co-author on the paper. That didn't sound too bad except Charlie hadn't published in over a year. He needed the recognition.

His students emailed him daily asking for their midterm results to help them study for finals. Even though Charlie was one of the most popular professors on campus, he knew he could lose that reputation fast if he didn't meet the needs of his students.

Then there was Don. The case his brother had dropped off appeared urgent and Don sounded desperate. He needed an algorithm to help narrow down the list of potential targets. Though Don hadn't specified what those targets were, the expression on his face when he talked about them was grim. This case was bad.

Now Milly needed him to read a stack of essays from students. He really didn't want to spend his weekend reading high school level essays about scoring forty points in basketball or the time they shook a senator's hand at a rally. But Charlie didn't want Milly following through on her threats if he didn't read them.

A knock on the door pulled Charlie from his thoughts. He looked up and saw a student leaning in through the open doorway.

"Professor Eppes?" the student asked.

"Yes, how can I help you?" Charlie sat up and tried to compose himself. He didn't recognize the student, but that didn't mean he wasn't in one of Charlie's classes. Several of the freshman level courses he taught were held in Amphitheatre-like classrooms that seated over a hundred students at once.

"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with Dr. Finch. It sounds like a lot of work for you."

Charlie felt redness creep into his face. "Don't worry about that."

"Are you sure, professor? Because I think I could help."

Charlie took a closer look at the student. He seemed older than the average freshman, but Charlie didn't recognize him from any of his higher-level courses. Maybe he was a TA for one of the other teachers.

"I don't think I could let you read the essays. But I appreciate the offer."

The student chuckled. "That's not what I meant. I just know a way for you to get through the work faster."

"In what way?"

The student reached in his pocket and took out a small bottle. It looked like a prescription pill bottle.

"Have you ever tried Focus? They boost concentration. Two pills can eliminate all distractions for hours at a time. Plenty of students around here are using them to get through studying and homework."

Charlie felt his gut clench. Was this student seriously offering him drugs?

"Um…I don't think this conversation is appropriate. Are these pills even legal?"

The student laughed. "Focus isn't illegal. Tons of people take it. Trust me, professor, just two pills and you will breeze through all this work."

Charlie wondered if he should call the school's HR department. Was security aware that students were using drugs? Then again, the student said the pills weren't illegal. Was there anything human resources or security could even do?

"Look," the student began, opening the bottle and shaking two pills into his palm. He set them on the edge of Charlie's desk. "I'll just leave these here. You don't have to take them, just think about it." The student pocketed the bottle and turned to go. "Have a good weekend," he said by way of farewell.

Charlie stared at the small white tablets. He picked them up and inspected them. They looked no different than the painkillers he took for headaches. Could they really help with concentration? Of course not, Charlie scoffed. He'd never considered any sort of synthetic enhancement in his life. He'd been taught since childhood not to take drugs for any reason besides medical.

Charlie's hand moved toward the garbage can then hesitated. He couldn't throw them away here. What if the janitor found them. He'd have to dispose of them somewhere more discreet.

With his heart pounding, Charlie pocketed the pills.

\- O -

Don pulled his SUV up to the curb in front of the craftsman. It was already dark, but lights were glowing in the windows of the house. Someone was still awake, and Don hoped it was Charlie.

After a long, stressful day, all Don wanted was to go back to his apartment and relax. He'd love to forget about the case, at least for the night. Unfortunately, his mind would not let that happen. So, he decided to quench his burning desire to know if Charlie had found anything out yet.

Don kicked open the car door and dragged himself up the front steps. He knocked as he pushed open the front door and was greeted by his father.

"Donnie! You're here late."

Don grimaced. "Hey, dad. Charlie around?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "He's in the dining room. Enter at your own risk."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your brother's feeling a bit overworked. You're not here to bring him a case, are you?"

Don felt his gut clench with guilt. He'd pushed Charlie into taking the case this afternoon. Now he wondered if that was the best idea. Then he thought about the specifics of the case—a dozen bodies mutilated, the murders escalating—and the guilt went away. They needed to solve this fast, which meant they needed Charlie.

"I just need to talk to him, dad." Don pushed passed his father and entered the dining room. Charlie sat at the table, surrounded by piles of papers.

"Any progress?" Don asked by way of greeting.

Charlie looked at him and Don noticed two things at once: dark circles under the eyes, and guilt furrowing his brow.

"I…uh…"

"Have you even started?"

Charlie looked down again.

"Are you serious? Charlie, come on. We need to catch this guy."

"I'm sorry. I just have so much other work to do. I haven't gotten to it yet. I'll work on it tomorrow."

"This afternoon you said you'd get to it tonight."

"Then Milly brought me a huge pile of work."

"Is Milly trying to catch a serial killer?"

"She's my boss, Don."

"And this is the FBI, Charlie. We are talking life and death, not As and Bs. Do you not understand what's at stake here?"

"I'm sorry, Don. I promise I'll work on it first thing tomorrow."

Don should have been content with that answer. After all, he wasn't even going to think about the case until he got back to the office. But it was too late to be content. Don's temper had heated up and he was using it to burn his brother.

"Seriously, Charlie, you think you are so special. Well, guess what? The world doesn't run on your schedule. Serial killers aren't going to check your calendar to make sure you're available to build some new equation to hunt them down. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices. If that's too hard for you, maybe I should talk to the assistant director about your consulting contract."

Don saw Charlie flinch at the mention of the contract, but he continued his rant.

"You know, you begged to help me with these cases. I never wanted you anywhere near this work, but you begged me. Now we have some maniac slaughtering families and what? Suddenly you don't have time for this anymore? That's not how this works, Charlie. You are either in or you're out."

This time Don was fully aware that Charlie had turned several shades paler and he chastised himself for admitting details about the case. He'd never intended for Charlie to know the gruesome bits. Charlie looked down again and Don felt shame rise in his gut again. He pushed it away and said, "Look, just get to it soon. There is a lot riding on your results."

Charlie pushed his hands inside his pockets and nodded. "I'll have something for you tomorrow…morning."

Don knew that meant Charlie would spend a sleepless night working in the garage. Normally that would bother him, but then the image of the child's body covered in blood flashed through his mind.

"Call me when you're done," Don said. He turned and left the dining room. Murmuring a goodnight to his father, Don soon found himself back in his SUV.

He was disappointed in Charlie, more than he should have been. Don knew Charlie was busy. He knew consulting for the FBI was second to his duties at the university. But Don had gotten used to Charlie dropping his other responsibilities to accommodate his needs. Now when his brother put something else first, Don threw a tantrum.

But Don couldn't get the crime scene images out of his head. He saw the little girl's blond hair dyed red with blood. He saw the mother's body bowed protectively over her baby, the weapon piercing them both. He saw the brothers, splayed out next to each other on the floor, hands positioned inches away as if reaching out for comfort in death.

The killer was going after families. Maybe some of that attitude was rubbing off on Don. Don too was going after his family.

Don still hadn't started the car. He sat there, staring at the steering wheel, debating if he should go in the house and apologize.

At last he reasoned that apologizing wouldn't make the results come any faster. Don started the SUV and drove to his apartment.

\- O -

No sooner had he heard the front door slam shut, then Charlie grabbed all the files and papers off the table in a single armload and bolted from the kitchen. He knew his father heard the shouting and Charlie wasn't in the mood to talk about it. He retreated to the garage. His sanctuary. Here he could work without distraction.

The thought reminded Charlie of another means of eliminating distraction. The two white tablets still rested in Charlie's pocket from where he'd put them earlier that day. He took them out and inspected them. They looked harmless, but there was no way of knowing if they were dangerous.

Taking the drug was risky. The student that gave them to him swore they were for studying, but he couldn't trust the student's word. These pills could be anything. Charlie's stomach curdled at the thought of ingesting something illegal or harmful.

Charlie's hand moved toward the garbage. His conscience told him the risk was too high. He couldn't take them. He couldn't. But then another voice at the back of his head slowed his arm's movement.

_"Just two pills and you will breeze through all this work."_

Speed had never been a problem before when it came to Charlie's work. He'd been up against deadlines before, but somehow, he always felt confident he could finish his projects accurately in the allotted time.

_"Now we have some maniac slaughtering families and what? Suddenly you don't have time for this anymore?"_

Don was counting on him. Milly was counting on him. MIT was counting on him. His students were counting on him. And all those people were counting down. If the clock hit zero and the work was not complete, Charlie's standing, his reputation, even his career may be in jeopardy. He'd have a difficult time renewing his contract with CalSci, collaborating on projects with other schools, and consulting with the FBI and other agencies. Certainly, the circumstances justified a gamble.

Charlie fingered the pills in his hand. Take them and see if they worked or try to manage the workload on his own. He felt damned either way.

In one swift movement, Charlie brought his hand to his mouth and swallowed the pills dry. He felt them go down, their rough sides scraping against the sensitive walls of his throat.

Turning to the files he'd carried out from the kitchen, Charlie opened the nearest one and started to work. He wondered how long it would take for the pills to kick in.

\- O -

"Charlie? Wake up, son."

Someone was shaking Charlie's shoulder, ushering him out of sleep. He groaned and tried to swat the hand away.

"No. Go away."

"Wake up, Charlie. You have class in an hour and you need to shower."

Charlie opened his eyes and shot up, startling his father who took a step back.

"Class? What day is it?"

"It's Monday. You've been in the garage all weekend. I certainly hope you got something done."

"So do I," Charlie mumbled, getting off the lumpy couch and stretching his back. His eyes fell on the old desk where files and papers were neatly stacked. Aware of his father watching him, Charlie wandered over and inspected the work.

It was finished. All of it. From the top three scholarship essays to reviewing the paper for MIT. He'd even graded all the midterms for his students, going as far as writing comments on each individual test.

Charlie's laptop beeped, and he glanced over to see an email from Don. Automatically he opened it and read a gratifying message from his brother, thanking him for the work he did on the case. They had new leads and were hopeful once again.

"Son? You really should shower and eat something before you go to canvas."

Charlie looked at his dad and saw worry lines etched on his face.

"Right," Charlie said, turning away from the desk and heading toward the door to the house. "I'll do that."

"Are you okay, Charlie?" Alan asked.

To be honest, Charlie wasn't sure he was okay. The completed work took the stress away, but it was replaced by a different feeling. Apprehension?

Charlie shrugged. "It's been a long weekend. I'm still waking up."

Alan huffed. "That's an understatement. I've never seen you that focused. You barely left the garage all weekend. I was beginning to worry."

It was then that Charlie realized what was bothering him. He couldn't remember the last two days. His memory caught glimpses of working. He remembered hitting send on the email to Don or logging the midterm grades on his computer. But he couldn't remember anything concrete about the weekend. The lack of detail made him nervous.

His stomach turned over when he realized the pills must be responsible for his foggy memory. Charlie looked at the desk, examining the work he'd accomplished. The pills must also be the reason that he'd gotten so much work done. The student hadn't been lying. He'd never achieved so much in such a limited time frame in his life. He just wished he could remember it.

Charlie spent most of the morning trying to fill the gap in his memory. He barely paid attention as he showered and ate breakfast. At least he remembered to collect the finished work from the garage before he headed toward campus.

Once in his office, the day's tasks melted away the effects of the weekend. Charlie's students were thrilled to have their midterms back and many signed up for one-on-one sessions during his office hours that afternoon. He had a conference call with MIT that lasted forty-five minutes, but the paper was back on track. When Milly came in to collect the scholarship essays, she thanked him profusely.

"To be honest, Charlie, I expected you to hand me an excuse instead of the essays. This shows real dedication."

"Anything for CalSci," Charlie said.

By the time Milly left, Charlie was feeling euphoric and exhausted. He must not have slept much during his two-day focus binge. He was also starving. That problem was solved by the next visitor through the door.

"Hey, Charlie," Don said, setting a brown sack on Charlie's desk. "I wish I had more than turkey and provolone to thank you with."

"Don't mention it," Charlie said, opening the sack and unwrapping the sandwich he found inside.

"Seriously, you really came through for us on this one. The results were more accurate and relevant than anything you've produced for us before. How did you do it?"

Not wanting to reveal that he'd taken drugs, Charlie just shrugged and took a big bit of sandwich.

Don chuckled. "Maybe I should yell at you more often. It really seemed to motivate you in this case."

Charlie swallowed and laughed. "I'd prefer sandwiches to yelling," he said.

"Whatever it takes," Don replied.

They spent the rest of lunch talking about the new leads Charlie's work had generated and what Don's team would do next.

By the time Charlie finished his last bite of sandwich, the lunch hour was up, and a student was knocking on Charlie's door.

"I'll let you get to it," Don said. "See you later, bro."

Charlie waved Don out, feeling content for the first time in days. He was caught up on his work, his family and colleagues were happy with him, and his stomach was full. Life didn't get much better than this.

"Professor Eppes?"

Charlie looked up at the familiar voice and saw the same student that had visited him on Friday, the student that had given him the pills.

"You seem to be in a better mood," the student said. "Did you use Focus?"

At those words, a wave of guilt washed away the peace. Yes, life was better, but Charlie attributed the improvement to an outside substance. But was that necessarily bad? What he did was no different than taking medication for an illness. Charlie had been stressed. He had work to finish and deadlines to meet. The pills had helped him get through the workload on time. He shouldn't be ashamed.

"Those pills are something," Charlie said and saw the student's smile widen. "I can't believe how much I got done over the weekend."

"I know what you mean," the student said. "Focus works miracles for students. I brought a bottle along with me in case you wanted more."

Charlie had to fight down another wave of guilt. This was beginning to feel just like the illegal drug sales he saw in movies. Except that they were in his office, not some back ally. And the pills the student was offering weren't some illegal substance. They were simply a medication that removed distractions and helped with focus. Charlie was impressed with what the pills had helped him accomplish over the weekend. He wondered what he could achieve with his cognitive emergence work if he had no distractions.

"If they work the second time as well as they did the first time, then I'll take a full bottle," Charlie said.

The student's eyes grew wide. "Sure," he said. "I can't give them away for free though, you understand."

"Of course," Charlie replied, reaching for his wallet. "How much?"

"One thousand for the bottle," the student said.

Charlie froze. He waited for the student to start laughing and tell him the real price. When the student didn't offer any correction, Charlie said, "I don't have that much cash with me today."

"How much cash do you have?" the student asked.

Charlie reached in his wallet and started counting bills. "About $180."

"That will buy you four pills for now."

"I'll take them," Charlie said, almost without thinking.

The student grinned again. He took the pill bottle from his pocket, opened it, and shook four small white tablets into his palm. He held them out and dropped them into Charlie's extended hand. Charlie handed the student the cash.

"Pleasure doing business with you, professor," he said, moving toward the door. "I'll be back in a couple of days in case you want to buy more. See you around."

"Yeah," Charlie said. "See you."

He stared at the pills in his hand. Four this time. They were multiplying. Two before. Four this time. Next time would he get eight? Or Sixteen? Or more even?

"Charlie, I almost forgot—"

Charlie closed his fist and shoved his hand under his desk as Milly strode into this office.

"You still need to submit your finals to the testing center by the end of the week," Milly said.

"No problem," Charlie replied. He felt the small tablets in his hand and smiled. "I'm totally focused."


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2: Effects

Larry looked up at the knock on his office door. He saw a young woman standing in the doorway and recognized his student, Laura Beck. He hadn't seen her in any of his classes in weeks. Not that her absence surprised him. Laura had been Katie Shelley's best friend.

"Come in, Laura," Larry said. He took in his student's appearance. Her face was pale and dry. Her clothes—made up of sweat pants and a large sweater—hung on her limp frame. He thought about Laura a few weeks ago sitting next to Katie in Advanced Physics. He knew they studied together. Their homework contained nearly identical answers. If their test scores hadn't been different, Larry may have suspected cheating. Then Katie began to surpass Laura. Still, Laura supported her friend. He remembered them both jumping up and down in excitement when Katie got the offer from NASA. The girls had a friendship that other students envied.

Shortly after, Katie had passed away. Larry felt a surge of sympathy for both of his students.

"Sorry I've been missing class so much, Professor Fleinhardt," Laura said in a quiet voice.

Giving the girl a sympathetic smile, Larry said, "Not to worry. I understand the circumstances. I simply asked you to see me today so that we discuss how to help you finish the semester. Please, sit down."

Laura sat in the chair across from Larry desk and stared at her shoes.

Larry cleared his throat before speaking. "I understand the school has an absence policy that limits the number of sessions a student can miss before an incomplete is placed on his or her record. However, I believe your circumstances overrule such policies."

"Thank you, Professor, but I might as well take the incomplete. I don't plan on returning to class." Laura's eyes never left her shoes as she spoke.

"I understand that losing Katie was difficult, but you can't throw away your future due to your grief. The best thing you can do is continue your studies."

Laura shook her head. "I'm not dropping out because I miss Katie. I'm dropping out because…"

Larry stayed silent, curiously waiting for his student to finish. "Because?" he prodded.

Laura finally looked up. "I'm scared of ending up like Katie. I'm scared of what I will do if the pressure becomes too much."

Remembering the newspaper article and the explanation that Katie died of a drug overdose, Larry again felt a wave of sympathy for his student.

"Laura, thousands of students study at this university and despite the pressure, the odds of graduating are very high. Hearing a story like Katie's is quite rare. As long as you are vigilant in your studies, I see no threat of you succumbing to dangerous substances."

"I would have said the same thing about Katie. That's the thing about Focus. It only takes trying it once before you can't function without it."

"Focus?"

"That's the name of the drug that killed her."

"Oh dear." Larry's hand fell automatically to his cheek. He inspected his student with new understanding. "Are other students using…Focus?"

Laura shrugged. "Probably. It's hard to know how many take it. I'm not even sure where they get it. Katie wouldn't tell me. I think most students get it from some guy. I don't know if he's a student or not."

Larry listened to Laura and wondered what he should do. How much did the school administrators know about CalSci's drug problem? One student lost already and more potentially in danger.

"Laura, would you accompany me to the administration offices? I would like you to tell the dean what you told me."

Without warning, Laura stood up and moved toward the door. "No. No, please. I don't want to get in trouble." Her face had gone even more pale and her eyes were large brown circles on the white skin.

Larry tried to reason with her. "You won't be in any trouble, Laura. But I'm worried that mores students could end up like Katie unless the school intervenes."

Laura was still backing up, shaking her head. "Please, I can't. I'm sorry."

With that, Laura disappeared into the hallway.

Larry stared after her, watching the students stroll back and forth passed his open door. She did not reappear. Disappointed, Larry placed his elbows on his desk and rested his head in his hands. His brow wrinkled with worry as he debated what he should do.

\- O -

Nearly a week later, Don visited CalSci. Part of the visit was to update Charlie on the case. He wanted to know if Charlie could pull any new leads out of the latest data the team had collected. They still hadn't caught the killer and the pressure was starting to interfere with the investigation. Politicians, press, and victims all wanted the killer brought to justice. They were losing patience and Don's team was starting to take the brunt of their frustrations.

Don also visited Charlie at the request of his father. Alan had called Don the day before to complain that Charlie had been acting strange. He was spending too much time in the garage or at school. His eating and sleeping habits had dropped to an unhealthy level. Alan hadn't said it, but Don picked up on the similarities to P vs. NP.

Don made up his mind before he arrived at CalSci. If Charlie looked as unhealthy as Alan described, he wouldn't give Charlie the case files.

The school was quiet for a Friday afternoon. Don assumed most students had decided to skip class and start their weekends early. It's what he would have done when he was in college.

Charlie's office door was open, but Charlie wasn't inside. Don walked in and looked around the room.

The young professor had always ignored certain aspects or life—cleanliness and organization—in pursuit of his work. Don was used to the mess Charlie left behind. That was why Don did a double take when he saw the neatly stacked papers on the desk. Was Don in the right office?

Moving in for a closer look, Don saw that not only were the papers in order, but everything on the desk was organized and aligned at an OCD level. The pencils were sharpened to exact lengths and sat side-by-side. Staplers, paperclips, and other office supplies were arranged to fit in a Tetris-like pattern. Not a spec of dirt or dust could be found anywhere on the desk surface.

Don turned around to inspect the chalkboards. They were covered in the usual equations, but the chalk trays were clean, and the chalk was untouched as if Charlie had just opened a new box.

Was Don in the right office?

"Larry, don't worry about it. I've got it."

Don looked up at Charlie's voice from the hallway. Seconds later the curly-haired genius appeared, his mentor by his side. They both paused in the doorway, seeing Don.

"Hey, Charlie. Larry," Don said. He was somewhat thrown off by his brother's appearance. Charlie was thin and his eyes were rimmed in red. His arms were full of books and Don hurried forward to take some of them before they crushed his brother.

"I've got it, Don," Charlie said, pushing passed the FBI agent and dropping the books into his rolling chair. He immediately began organizing them on his bookshelf. "You guys wouldn't know where to put them anyway."

Don exchanged a glance with Larry who shrugged.

"Everything okay, Charlie?" Don asked.

Charlie heaved an exasperated sigh. "I'm fine, Don." He suddenly straightened up, and turned away from the shelf, a book still clutched in his hands. "What are you doing here? Do you have an update on the case?"

"That depends," Don said. "You seem a little overworked."

Don heard the smallest gasp from Larry as if the professor was bracing himself. A moment later, Don understood why.

"I AM NOT OVERWORKED!" Charlie yelled, slamming the book down on his desk and making Don jump and reach for his holster. Charlie continued ranting without noticing Don's reflex reaction. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I've met all my deadlines. My math has been flawless. Why does everyone assume I'm overworked?"

Charlie was breathing hard after the outburst and Don waited for him to calm down before speaking.

"I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to imply you were doing anything wrong. I was just concerned. Dad said you haven't been home very much and he's worried you aren't eating."

"That's just dad," Charlie said, turning back to the bookshelf.

"You doing some cleaning?" Don asked. He listened for another intake of breath from Larry, but the silence let Don know the question was safe.

"The mess was distracting. I get more done when I'm not distracted."

"I can't argue with that," Don said.

Charlie placed the final book and turned back to Don. With nothing to do, Charlie's hands fidgeted. He couldn't seem to stand still.

"Do you want my help with the case?" Charlie asked.

Not wanting trigger another tirade about being overworked, Don held up the folder from the FBI. "This is everything new. We have two new…locations for you to factor in. You think you can figure out the pattern?"

Charlie snatched the folder and opened it, scanning the data.

"That's it?" he asked.

"I'm sorry it isn't much, buddy." In reality, Don wasn't sorry at all. The two new locations were crime scenes for two more murders. This time it was an elderly couple about to move into a care facility and an uncle babysitting his niece. Both scenes had been disturbing. Don really wanted to catch the guy before he could kill again. "You think it will be enough?" Don asked his brother.

"I'll get you what I can. You'd better go. I need to focus."

Don opened his mouth to say goodbye, but Charlie was already engrossed in the files. He doubted his brother would even hear him. He turned to leave and found himself face-to-face with Larry. The expression on Larry's face made the hairs on Don's neck stand up. Together they moved into the hallway. Don heard the office door slam behind them. Charlie never closed his office door.

"Does he seem okay to you?" Don asked, knowing what Larry's answer would be.

"His behavior is concerning. Especially his language."

"Language?"

"He talked about eliminating distractions. He said he wanted to focus."

Don shrugged. "I've been there."

Larry stared at the closed office door, absently rubbing his chin.

"Don, at the FBI, have you ever heard of a drug called Focus?"

"I haven't, but my team doesn't cover very many drug cases. That's usually the DEA. Why?"

"One of my students overdosed a couple of weeks ago."

"I'm sorry," Don said, wondering what this had to do with Charlie's eccentric behavior.

"When speaking with another student about Katie's death, she told me about a drug called Focus. It has apparently become a choice study agent for many students at CalSci."

Don stayed quiet and let the professor explain.

"I don't know very much about this particular drug, but its name implies it is some sort of mental distraction eliminator. My student confessed that it was highly addictive." Larry finally pried his eyes away from the door to look at Don. "Could you find out more?"

Don realized what Larry was telling him. Had Charlie somehow started relying on drugs to help him study? The idea was absurd. Charlie was not the type of person to turn to outside substances in order to enhance his thinking. Charlie was a genius already. He didn't need extra help.

But then Don thought of Charlie's strange behavior. The OCD organization, pushing people away, getting upset over accusations of being overworked, it all seemed out of character.

"Are you sure I have a reason to make inquiries?" Don asked cryptically.

Larry's eyes returned to the closed door. "I'm beginning to believe we have a very good reason."

\- O -

Complications in the case kept Don busy until Friday when he was finally able to call his contact at the DEA. Don took a deep breath before dialing the number, preparing himself for the conversation—and not just because he was about to discuss his brother's possible drug habit.

He heard two rings then a greeting.

"This is Martin."

"Aubrey?"

"Speaking."

"It's Don Eppes."

There was a brief pause then. "What can I do for you, Don?"

That was politer than Don had expected. It was certainly politer than he deserved.

"I need a favor."

Another pause. "What is it?"

"Have you ever heard of a drug called Focus?"

Don could hear the relief in Aubrey's voice when she answered. He wasn't asking about past romances. His question was current, relevant.

"It's a newer drug, but it's making a big impact, especially on college campuses," Aubrey said. "We've already had reports of several deaths from overdoses. They say it's highly addictive and has a hell of an effect."

"What exactly does this drug do?"

"Lives up to its name. Take a pill and you can focus your entire being on a single task. Without any distractions, the user can accomplish just about anything. Take this one kid that overdosed over at UCLA. Her teachers said she went from average student to top of her class. All sorts of companies were offering her jobs and internships. The credit for her Cinderella story goes to Focus. I'd give it to my agents if it weren't so addictive. Side-effects are a pain."

"What sort of side-effects are we talking about?"

"Apart from the addiction? While the drug is in the system, the mind must focus on a single task. College kids use it to complete homework assignments. But once the assignment is done, they have to use up the rest of the drug. I've had reports of kids destroying dorm rooms and other property. Of course, that's when the drug is in the system. Coming down from the drug is even worse. Memory loss, inability to concentrate, fidgeting, nervous energy, and it only gets worse from there."

Don pictured Charlie's strange behavior from earlier that week. It seemed to fit Aubrey's description. "And what's the withdrawal process like?"

Aubrey sighed. "I'll let you know when we get a report of a successful withdrawal."

"What do you mean?"

"We can't get anyone to function without the drug. Once Focus is in the system, the user can't get by without it. We've got doctors working with a handful of users, none of them can get through a day without taking Focus."

Don cursed under his breath.

"Don?"

"Yeah?"

"Why is the FBI interested in Focus?"

"The FBI isn't. I am."

"Okay. Why are you interested in Focus?"

Don wondered if his ex-girlfriend was really the right person to discuss his suspicions. If he could think of her as a DEA agent and not a past lover, maybe she could help.

"Do you remember my brother Charlie?"

"The math genius?"

"That's the one."

"I remember," Aubrey said.

"I think he might have started using Focus."

There was another pause, then Aubrey said, "Tell me about his behavior."

"He's not sleeping or eating, but he sometimes gets that way when he's overworked."

"Has he seemed stressed?"

"No," Don said, surprised that he hadn't realized this before. "He's a professor at CalSci. Normally when he's this close to finals, he's a wreck. But he seems to be thriving. I asked for him to consult on a case for the FBI and he's brought back results faster than ever before."

"What made you suspect he's taking Focus?"

"One of his coworkers brought his behavior to my attention. A girl at the college died of a drug overdose. Knowing the drugs were present on campus, the professor asked me what I knew about Focus. That's why I called you."

"Okay, Don, listen to me very carefully. Has your brother experienced any unconsciousness while working? He'd be so invested in his work that he won't acknowledge anything else. He won't speak or even look at anything else going on in the room."

Don thought about P vs NP. But even then, Charlie would at least acknowledge his presence. "No," Don said.

"If that happens, it means he's definitely addicted to Focus. You must get him to a doctor right away. Do you understand?"

Don could hear the serious tone in her voice. For the first time, it struck him just how much danger Charlie was in.

"I understand," he said quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3: Consequences

The call came less than a week later.

Don was in the bullpen, going over the case with his team. There hadn't been any new murders, so Don took the opportunity to try and find some new leads. They dug through old case files, looking for any similarities that might be related to their current situation.

Megan tossed a folder into the bust pile, muttering something about another murder-suicide. Across from her, Colby leaned back in his chair and let out a deep breath.

"We've been at this for hours. I don't think we're gonna find anything," Colby said, yawning.

David set his file back on the table. "How about a break. I could run up to Antoni's and pick up a couple of pizzas."

Don was immersed in his folder. He heard his team fall silent and glanced up to see all three of them staring at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Pizza?" Colby said. "Break?"

Don nodded just as his cell phone started ringing. "Fine. Get out of here." He looked at the screen of his phone and saw it was Larry. "Make sure you get mushrooms on at least one of them."

Don found himself alone in the conference room before the phone even reached his ear.

"Hey, Larry, what's up?"

"Don? I think something is wrong with Charles."

The immediate gut-clenching sensation brought Don to his feet.

"What is it? What's happened to him?"

"You see, this afternoon when I entered the auditorium for my afternoon class, I found the chalkboards covered in equations. I recognized Charles's handwriting and went searching for him to inquire if he still needed the work or if I could erase it. It is not customary to use classroom chalkboards for personal studies."

Don bit his tongue to keep himself from telling Larry to get to the point.

"As I made my way up the hallway, I found the equations continuing into nearly every classroom between my class's auditorium and his office. The amount of time it would take to complete that amount of work…he must have been at it all night. I continued searching and eventually found Charles in another classroom. He was still progressing on the same set of equations. When I tried to get his attention, he didn't seem to see or hear me."

The conversation with Aubrey from a few days earlier came back to Don's mind. He remembered her warning about periods of unconsciousness.

"I'm on my way," Don said. "Stay with him, Larry. Call me if anything changes."

He hung up his phone on his way out of the conference room. At the door, he nearly collided with Megan. She took one look at his face and stepped aside, then followed him into the elevator.

"Is it another murder?" she asked.

Don shook his head. "Charlie."

She didn't ask any further questions, simply stayed by his side, even climbing into the passenger seat of his SUV.

The drive to the college took nearly twenty minutes. Don's phone hadn't gone off again, so he assumed Charlie was still in his unconscious state of work. He suddenly felt very grateful that Megan had come along. Her background in psychology may be useful in this situation.

It didn't take long to find the classroom. A group of students had gathered outside the door and were watching as Larry pleaded with Charlie to stop working.

It took one flash of Don's FBI badge to make the students scatter. He stepped into the classroom and his eyes landed on his brother.

Charlie stood at the chalkboard, his hand shaking so the writing was barely legible. He was covered in chalk dust. Don's stomach clenched when he saw bloody knuckles from Charlie trying to write with a piece of chalk that was too worn down.

"Please, Charles. You must take a break. This isn't healthy," Larry begged. As soon as he saw Don and Megan enter the room, he moved over to them. "It's like he can't hear me," Larry explained.

Don moved forward and spoke with a loud voice. "Chuck! Snap out of it!"

Charlie continued scribbling, trapped in his own focused haze.

"Should we restrain him?" Larry asked in a shaky voice.

Megan answered, "I don't think so. It might make the situation worse. We need to know what is causing this behavior. He might have had some sort of psychotic break."

"It's the drug," Don said. "Focus. This is a symptom of addiction. We need to get him to a doctor."

Instead of moving toward his brother, Don turned and walked out of the classroom. Megan and Larry followed silently. Don didn't stop until he reached Charlie's office. He went straight up to the desk and started opening drawers.

"Don?" Megan asked.

"We have to find it," Don said, yanking open one drawer after another. He spotted Charlie's bag on the floor and flipped it upside down. Papers, pens, chalk, wrappers, calculators, and a pill bottle fell out. Don grabbed the pill bottle before it could roll to the floor. It had no label. Nothing to identify what the little white pills inside the bottle would do. Don placed the bottle in his pocket. "Let's go," he said.

They went back to the classroom. Charlie still stood at the same board. He had stopped writing and simply stared at the marks he had made. He raised the hand not holding the chalk and brushed his fingers across the dusty surface. Then he turned.

Don thought he could see consciousness returning. Charlie blinked and seemed to recognize Don. He opened his mouth as if to say something but suddenly fell backward. He slumped against the board, exhaustion finally catching up with him.

"Woah! Charlie!" Don said, running forward and catching Charlie. He gently lowered him to the ground.

"Don?" Charlie's voice sounded so weak.

"It's okay. We're going to get you some help."

Megan and Don each took hold of Charlie's arms. Together they carried Charlie out of the building and to Don's waiting SUV. Without a word, Don handed Megan the keys, then he climbed into the backseat, pulling Charlie in after him.

"Larry, call my dad. Tell him we'll meet him at the hospital."

Larry nodded and closed the door. He barely had time to step back before Megan stepped on the gas and turned on the lights and siren.

\- O -

An hour later, Don sat in the waiting room with Larry and Alan. Megan had gone back to the FBI after dropping Don and Charlie off at the hospital. She made Don promise to call and give her an update as soon as he knew anything. In the meantime, she'd continue to work the murder case with David and Colby.

Charlie had stayed unconscious throughout the entire ride to the hospital. He stirred slightly as nurses loaded him onto a gurney and rushed him inside. Don had stayed by Charlie's side long enough to hand the pill bottle to a doctor, then he was directed to the waiting room. Alan had shown up twenty minutes later. Larry, ten minutes after that.

All three waited in silence. They watched doctors and nurses come and go from the waiting room, speaking to the friends and families of patients. It felt like an eternity had passed when a doctor emerged and called out Charlie's name.

Don, Alan, and Larry were immediately on their feet and the doctor came to them.

"My name is Dr. Glover," the doctor said. "I've been attending Charles."

"How is he?" Alan asked.

"We tested his blood. It contains a high amount of the same drug that came from the sample you gave us," the doctor replied, nodding at Don. "I made some inquiries with a few colleagues at other hospitals in the area. Apparently, this particular drug is becoming a real problem."

"How's Charlie?" Don asked, his tone firm.

Dr. Glover sighed. "He's resting. He was exhausted and a bit dehydrated. Do any of you know the last time he slept or ate anything?"

The three men looked at each other.

The doctor continued before they could come up with an answer. "We're giving him fluids and letting him sleep for now. When he wakes up, we'll have to deal with the symptoms of the drug."

"What will that involve?" Alan asked.

"After speaking to my colleagues, I'm afraid it will be a drawn-out process. Since the drug is relatively new, we don't have a clear idea for helping Charles with this condition."

"You don't know how to help him?" Don asked, his voice louder than he intended. Several waiting room guests looked their direction.

"We will do everything we can for Charles," Dr. Glover said, lowering her voice. "Right now, he needs rest and fluids. In the meantime, I'm going to continue researching the situation."

"Thank you, doctor," Alan said. "Can we see Charlie?"

She nodded. "I'll have a nurse escort you back."

No sooner had Dr. Glover left, Alan collapsed into his stiff plastic chair. "How did this happen?" He asked, rubbing tired eyes.

Don sat down next to him but didn't speak.

Alan continued, "Drugs? Drugs?! Charlie knows better than to take drugs. Of all the things that have caused me to worry about you boys, drugs were very low on the list."

"It is out of character for Charles," Larry put in, sinking to a chair himself.

"I thought we raised him better than that."

"This isn't your fault, dad," Don said. "It isn't Charlie's fault either. When he wakes up, you can't start lecturing him."

Alan sighed and rubbed his eyes again. "I know. I'm not sure what to do. I never thought I'd be in this situation."

At that moment a young man in scrubs came to them. "Are you the family of Charles Eppes?"

Don and Alan nodded and rose once again. Larry opted to stay behind, claiming he would call Megan and give her the updated information.

The nurse led Don and Alan through a set of double doors and into a hallway lined with hospital rooms. He stopped at a room midway down the hall and gestured inside.

Don entered to find Charlie resting peacefully. He had an IV taped to one hand and looked slightly pale, but besides that, he appeared to be sleeping.

Alan sat in a chair that had been placed next to the bed. Don stood beside him, not taking his eyes off his brother.

"I'm sorry, dad," Don said at last.

"Sorry? For what?"

Don hesitated before he spoke, wondering how his father would react to what he was going to say. At last, he explained. "The drug that Charlie took, it helps him focus. But it's highly addictive and has terrible side effects. I think he started taking it because he felt overworked. I had him consulting on a case, even though I knew he was busy with school. In a way, this is my fault."

It was several seconds before Alan reacted to Don's confession. When he did, Don expected a reprimand. Instead, his father said, "Five minutes ago you told me it wasn't my fault. You can't take the blame either. We need to find a way to help Charlie, not take the fall for his choice."

A nurse came into the room, checked Charlie's condition, the slipped out. A few minutes later she came back in with a new saline bag.

"How long do you expect he will be out?" Alan asked the nurse.

She shrugged. "I really can't say. Sorry." She finished hooking up the new bag and left again.

By now it was evening. Don suspected Charlie would sleep the rest of the night. He was about to suggest they go home and come back in the morning when Charlie began to stir.

"Charlie?" Alan said, leaning forward and taking his hand.

Charlie's eyes opened, and he scanned the room. His eyes passed right over Don without any recognition. His hand slipped out of Alans and began moving across the blanket as if searching for something.

"Do you need something, son?" Alan asked.

"Chalk," Charlie said.

Don stepped forward. "There's no chalk, Charlie. You need to stop working."

Charlie grew more agitated. He tried to sit up and seemed to grow irritated by the IV in his hand. His breathing became rapid and his head swung from side to side.

"I need chalk. I need to focus. I can't focus."

Alan moved just in time to stop Charlie from climbing out of bed. Charlie fought him, weakly.

"You need to rest, son," Alan said. He tried to sooth Charlie, but his attempts had no effect on Charlie's distressed state.

"Where is the chalk?" Charlie asked. He tried to push Alan away and Don joined the fray. He grabbed hold of Charlie's arms while Alan pressed against his shoulders. This only made Charlie start to kick with his legs. "Get me the chalk. I need to the chalk. I CAN'T FOCUS!"

He screamed out the last words, alerting the nurse to come back into the room. She took one look at Charlie, being held down by his father and Don, then rushed out.

Charlie continued to struggle. He no longer screamed but put his energy toward fighting Alan and Don. Dr. Glover turned up just in time to see Charlie twist his entire body, wrenching himself out of Alan's grip. Don still held his arms, which meant the IV was still in place.

Dr. Glover moved passed Alan and inserted a needle into Charlie's IV. Charlie immediately began to calm.

"Chalk," he said one last time before his eyes closed and he relaxed. Only then did Don loosen his hold on his brother.

"What did you give him?" Don asked. He was surprised to realize he was breathing heavily. Charlie had fought harder than expected for someone suffering from exhaustion and dehydration.

"A mild sedative. It will only last an hour, but I don't dare give him anything stronger until we've run some more tests on the substance in his blood."

"The drug?" Alan asked. He was rubbing his wrists. He too must have had a difficult time restraining Charlie.

"We can't risk a negative reaction. As soon as we have more information, I'll know how to best proceed."

"Try contacting Aubrey Martin with the DEA," Don said. "Tell her Don Eppes told you to speak with her." He glanced with his father, then said, "You can give her the details of Charlie's case."

Dr. Glover looked at Alan who nodded.

"Very well. I'll speak with you again soon."

With that she strode from the room, leaving Don and Alan alone with a sleeping Charlie.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4: Reaction

During the first week Charlie was in the hospital, he would sometimes wake up. Whenever Charlie gained consciousness—if that's what you could call it—he would thrash and moan, begging for something to write with and sobbing because he couldn't focus. Eventually, the doctors caved and gave Charlie a notebook and pen. Charlie had scribbled indiscernible marks. It was as if his mind couldn't write only one thing at a time and tried to purge ever idea in Charlie's head all at once. The result left Charlie screaming in pain and anguish.

The doctors kept Charlie sedated the second week. They worked frantically with other specialists across the country, discussing different methods of treatment. They didn't want to wake Charlie up and damage his mind. Until they knew what steps to take next, they kept Don's little brother in a state of unconsciousness.

In the meantime, Don split his time between the hospital and the FBI. His team still had to work the open murder case, but they also began investigating Focus. They made little progress with either case.

Two weeks after Charlie's hospitalization, another student at CalSci died. Don's team was called to the scene. They found a bottle of white pills in the dorm room where the body had been found. It was identical to the bottle Don found in Charlie's bag. The FBI team interviewed students and witnesses. They eventually pieced together a vague description of the seller—a young man, maybe a student. It wasn't enough to go on. Don wondered how on earth Charlie had come into contact with the suspect.

Schools and campuses across the state began posting warnings about the addictive drug, creating awareness of its dangers and side-effects. It did little to help. More students turned up showing symptoms of Focus addiction.

Alan spent his time at the hospital, needing to be near youngest his son. Don would drive him to the hospital every morning, sit with him an hour while they stared at a sleeping Charlie, then go to the FBI. He'd return at lunch, and again in the evening to take his father home again. At the end of every day, Alan always gave the same news. No change.

Don's breaking point came at the start of week three. Another family was discovered slaughtered in their home. After nearly a month of inactivity, the serial killer had reappeared in the most gruesome way imaginable.

"Dammit! Dammit! DAMMIT!" Don shouted, slapping a fist on the table. The outburst wasn't enough. He could feel the pent-up tension surging through his limbs. He jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. He kicked the chair across the room where it slammed against the wall. Gathering a stack of papers, Don hurled them to the floor.

His team stared at him. It wasn't often Don Eppes lost his cool. None of them could blame him for the outburst.

"I'm sorry," Don said, though he didn't mean it.

"We get it, Don," David said. "We're all under stress. Maybe you should head home for the day."

"I have to figure this out," Don said. He bent down to gather the scattered papers. A moment later Megan's hand appeared over his. He looked into her sympathetic expression.

"Go see Charlie. Spend some time with your father. You can't work when you are like this."

If anyone but Megan had said those words, Don would have argued or ignored them. Megan's calm yet commanding tone had Don heaving a sigh.

"Call me if anything turns up." He straightened and moved toward the door.

"Don."

Pausing, Don turned back to see Colby watching him. "If you need to talk, or anything else, we're all here for you."

Don nodded, then passed out of the room.

He did what his team suggested and went straight to the hospital. There he found Doctor Glover speaking with Alan.

"What's going on?" Don asked as he stepped into the room.

They both looked up, Alan nearly dropping a stack of pamphlets he'd been holding.

"You're here early," Alan said by way of greeting.

"Is Charlie okay?" Don asked, feeling panic rise in his chest.

"Your brother is doing as well as can be expected," Dr. Glover said. "We were just discussing some long-term options for his care."

This time the panic expanded passed Don's chest and landed in his gut. "Long-term?"

Dr. Glover gave Don a sad smile, "The truth is, there isn't more we can do for Charlie. We don't have enough research to find a solution."

"What about the other specialists?" Don asked.

"We are all stumped. Many doctors have chosen to move patients into rehab centers. Others have found home-care solutions. All the options are in the literature I've given your father."

Don looked at his dad who was staring hopelessly at the pamphlets hanging loosely from his fingers. Was Dr. Glover really telling them that they were giving up?

Memories of Charlie flashed through Don's mind. Working cases together, watching baseball games, even spending time together as kids. Then there was the time they'd spent apart. Over the past few years, Don had begun making up for those years they'd lost touch. He couldn't throw all that away now.

"No."

"I'm sorry?" Dr. Glover said.

"No. Those aren't our only options. Charlie is going to get better."

A sad smile appeared on Dr. Glover's face. "I'm afraid we just don't have enough research yet. Have some patience and—"

"No," Don said one more time. "This is my brother you are talking about. I'm not ready to give up on him."

"Not a single victim of Focus has successfully withdrawn from the drug," Dr. Glover said. She was starting to sound annoyed. "I understand you have strong feelings about this, but Charlie's chances are not high."

"Save your probability lecture," Don said, feeding off of the doctor's annoyance. "Charlie is an anomaly. He always has been. And this case is no different. He's going to be fine. Now tell me what you need."

"Need?"

"To find the solution. To help Charlie."

Alan looked up then, his expression almost as shocked as Dr. Glover's.

"Well…" After considering for several seconds, Dr. Glover's expression became determined and she nodded to herself. "The origin. If you can find the manufacturer, see how Focus is made, it gives us a place to start."

"You can't reverse-engineer it from the samples?" Alan asked.

"It would take too long. If the FBI can find how Focus is made, it might give us the time we need to find a treatment for Charlie."

Don nodded, though he felt less sure. They'd been trying to track down the origins of Focus for two weeks now. All they had was a vague description of a distributor.

"Anything else?" Don asked.

"Just that you'd better hurry, Agent Eppes."

\- O -

That night, Don sat on the couch of the Craftsman home. His father had retreated to bed, but Don couldn't sleep. He resisted the temptation to go back to the FBI and look at the case files. Instead, he sat in the dark and considered everything he could remember about the case.

It was after midnight when the answer struck Don. The late hour and stress were beginning to take him. His mind grew fuzzy and his thoughts were distracted by ideas of sleep.

Suddenly Don sat bolt upright. What he was considering was dangerous. It was more dangerous than any action he'd ever taken before. The consequences could be devastating at best, fatal at worst, but it could provide a solution.

Don reached for his phone and car keys, dialing Colby's number as he exited out the front door toward his SUV. The phone rang three times before Don heard Colby's groggy, sleep-filled voice.

"Don? Everything okay with Charlie?"

"Colby, today you told me that if I needed anything, you'd be there for me."

"What's going on, Don?" Colby sounded more alert with every word.

"I have an idea. I either need you to support me or talk me out of it. I haven't decided which. I'll be at your place in an hour."

He hung up before Colby could reply. By then he was in his car and pulling away from the curb. Fifteen minutes later he was pulling into an empty parking lot at the FBI. Taking a deep breath, Don entered the building. When he exited, he carried a box of folders. Everything they had on both the Focus case and the serial killer.

Don placed the box in the passenger seat of his car. He felt in his pocket for his keys and his hand brushed against the evidence bag in his pocket. He suppressed a shudder and started his car.

Even though he arrived at Colby's apartment earlier than planned, Colby was wide awake and waiting for him.

"What's going on?" Colby asked as soon as he opened the door.

Don moved passed him and set the box on Colby's coffee room table. "Charlie doesn't have much time left. The doctors need to know how Focus gets manufactured."

Colby seemed to deflate. "We've gone over this a hundred times, Don."

"Not like this." Don reached into his pocket. "I'm going to solve this. I can do it with Focus." He took out the clear evidence bag, the bottle of white pills sealed inside.

Nearly a minute passed before Colby spoke.

"You've got to be kidding."

"It's either this or Charlie gets put in a long-term rehab facility. They're giving up on him, Colby. We have to solve this now."

"So, you're going to put yourself in the same situation as Charlie? Alan's going to lose both his sons?"

"I'm going to solve this," Don argued. "The higher the stakes, the greater the effect of Focus. I'm going to take a dose and figure this out."

Colby rubbed a hand over his face in a very Larry-like fashion. "You have got to be kidding me." He lowered his hand and looked at Don. "Why call me?"

"In case something goes wrong. I need you to monitor me. Make sure I don't lose consciousness."

This time barely a second passed before Colby turned away. "I'm calling Megan. If you're serious about this, I want her expertise."

"Fine," Don said. He moved to the couch in front of the coffee table and began organizing folders. "I'm doing this whether either of you support me though."

Ten minutes later, David arrived with Megan. Apparently, Colby had called them both. Don waited patiently while they made their arguments as to why this was a bad idea, then reached for the evidence bag and ripped off the tape. Removing the pill bottle, he popped off the lid and poured two tablets into his palm. He caught the looks his team was shooting at him.

"I'm not going to die from this, guys. Don't look so grim."

His words did nothing to erase the morbid expressions from his friends' faces.

"Look, if something does go wrong, just…" He didn't know what to say. Just know he's sorry for a stupid decision? Just make sure Charlie is comfortable in his incurable state? Just take care of his dad who lost both his sons to the same drug? "Just don't let anything go wrong," he finished lamely.

Tipping his head back, Don swallowed the pills and took a gulp of water from the glass resting on the table. He looked down at the files, waiting for the drugs to kick in.

"Here we go," he mumbled, picking up the closest stack of papers and beginning to read.

It only took fifteen minutes for Focus to take effect. Within the hour, Don had reread all the case files from the serial killer and was making new connections between their observations and the evidence. He was vaguely aware of his teammates discussing his findings as he scrawled them down. Then he forgot the team was even in the room. They were a distraction and Don's mind filtered out distractions.

He got lost in the work. He felt neither sleep nor hunger, as those would be distractions. At one point he handed a file to one member of his team, he wasn't sure which and ordered them to verify some information. Had he been more aware, he would have realized he'd roused David from where he'd been dosing on the couch to complete the task. But Don was unaware of the hour or his teammate's need to rest. All that mattered was the work. All of Don's focus was on the work.

Daylight crept in through the windows, turned golden yellow in the afternoon, then faded back to black. Don continued to work without even noticing the passing of the day. When his teammates returned from tasks, he would read through their findings then send them back out to collect more information. His conclusions seemed obvious under the influence of Focus. Of course, all the victims shared a commonality. They all were carriers of a certain genetic disorder. The killer would want to stop the families from passing the genes on to future children. That's why he was eliminating entire families. And how did he know who carried the gene? Only someone with in-depth knowledge of their ancestry. He must work at a medical facility. More likely a family history library.

Under the influence of Focus, it had taken just over a day to narrow down the list of suspects until he had a name. He wrote down his conclusions and dropped the paper onto the stack of neatly piled case folders. Messes could be distractions. He couldn't even remember cleaning up the folders. But he must have done it sometime in the night. After all, it was daylight again.

He ignored Megan when she picked up his notes and read through them. He barely heard her praise his findings. Don didn't blink an eye at the sound of Colby's front door opening and closing when half the team left to follow up on his results.

With the serial murder case completed, Don turned to the research on Focus. While the serial murder case had weeks of information and research, Focus was very limited. Don read over interviews with witnesses. CalSci students and faculty described an unknown seller distributing the drugs on campus. Although the physical description was vague, the circumstances surrounding the appearance of the dealer held many similarities. Enough that Don could track down the suspect.

Gathering the folders, he stood up and moved toward the front door.

"Woah, Don. Hold up there."

He recognized Megan's voice, but her request to pause was a distraction. He couldn't let his focus be interrupted. He needed to keep working.

Don tried to pass Megan, but she continued to block him.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to get to CalSci. I can find the distributor."

His annoyance grew as Megan continued to block him.

"You can't leave the apartment, Don. Not in this state."

Don ignored her. He couldn't do anything with Megan in his way. He needed to eliminate the distraction.

"Come with me. You drive."

Megan froze at Don's words. He saw her relax and realized she'd been prepared to defend herself against him. But Don didn't feel violent. He merely wanted to solve this case and help Charlie. That was where his focus was at the moment.

"Let's go, Reeves," Don said, finally passing the agent and gaining the front door.

They took Megan's car to campus. As they drove, Don started to feel some of the side effects of the drug. He had nothing to focus on for the ten minutes it took to reach CalSci. The other cars on the road, the music blasting through the radio, Megan's alert driving, all became distractions that Don struggled to push away.

Is this how Charlie felt? Was he lying in the hospital because the distractions became too much?

Before Don's mind could complete that train of thought, Megan was pulling up at the curb outside the university. Don climbed out of the car and scanned the various students making their way across campus. He couldn't imagine trying to pick out just one person from this sea of students if he didn't have Focus to guide him. With the drug in his system, Don would find the distributor, who would lead him to the manufacturer. Charlie would be cured by evening.

Before Don could even reach the sidewalk, however, Megan's phone range. He felt her grab his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. She held him in place as she answered. Don ignored her—she was a distraction—and continued scanning students.

"Don, David and Colby need us at the office."

Don heard the words, but he ignored them. Right now, his focus was centered on CalSci and finding the distributor.

"David and Colby need to see if their suspect is the serial killer. They need your confirmation before they can proceed. We need to go now."

Her words sounded louder. With a jolt, Don realized he'd been on Focus for nearly forty-eight hours. The dose wouldn't last much longer. He needed to find the distributor before it wore off.

"Don, we can't ID the killer without you. Are you coming?" Megan's insistent voice penetrated his thoughts. He was fading faster than he'd expected. Along with the thought came the sudden loss of energy. He felt his legs start to collapse as his muscles lost feeling. Megan yelled his name and he felt her catch him before he hit the ground. It was the last thing he remembered before he was overcome by darkness.

\- O -

Don opened his eyes then immediately closed them against the blinding light. He was lying on his stomach and felt utterly exhausted. His mind wanted to drift back into sleep, but Don forced himself to stay awake.

The second attempt to open his eyes gained better results. Don blinked and looked away from the window where the light was flooding his bedroom. He looked around and realized he was at the Craftsman. The last thing Don remembered was going to Colby's house. How had he gotten back here?

The sound of the door opening startled Don. He wrenched his neck whipping his head around to see the intruder. It was only Alan, walking in with a tray of breakfast food.

"I see you're finally awake," Alan said, setting the tray on the bedside table and crossing his arms.

"What happened?" Don asked, sitting up and rubbing at his sore muscles.

"I'm waiting for you to tell me. Megan dropped you off here last night with instructions not to leave you alone. I wanted to call a doctor when you wouldn't wake up, but Megan told me to keep an eye on you and only call for help if you developed any symptoms." Focusing his intense "dad stare" on Don, Alan asked, "What did you do?"

It took Don a minute of thinking to remember. When it came back to him he groaned and pressed his hands over his eyes. "Something stupid. I did something really stupid."

Don stood up and wobbled. He ignored the breakfast and started looking around for his shoes. "I need to get to the FBI," he said. A thought struck him, and he finally looked at his dad's perplexed face. "How's Charlie?"

Alan scoffed. "Considering you haven't been to see him in almost three days…" Alan sank onto the bed with a sigh. "He's the same. The doctors want me to move him to a permanent rehab facility, but I wanted to talk to you first."

Don nodded, somewhat relieved that Charlie's condition hadn't deteriorated further.

"I think I can help him, dad. I just need to talk to my team first. Don't do anything yet." Finally locating his shoes, Don pulled them on.

"What do you mean you can help him? What's going on?" Alan seemed to collect himself and he followed Don out of the room.

"You don't want to know. Trust me. I really have to go." As Don grabbed his keys and exited the house, he threw over his shoulder, "I'll see you with Charlie at the Hospital."

\- O -

Don spent the morning at the FBI with a relieved Megan, Colby, and David. They were pleased to see that their unit chief survived his brain-addled scheme to take Focus. Between the four of them, they were able to go over Don's notes and find the chain of evidence to link the suspect David and Colby had arrested the night before to the murders. After an hour of interrogation, the man broke down and confessed. His mother had died of a genetic condition. The man thought that by killing others with the condition, he was sparing future generations from the pain he went through.

With the case concluded, Don was free to focus his attention on Charlie.

"We didn't find the manufacturer," Megan said when the team reconvened.

As far as they knew, Don hadn't left any notes on the case. According to Megan, Don had read through the files and decided to go to CalSci to find the distributor. The drug wore off before he made any progress.

Don's memories of the previous two days were sketchy at best. It was as if the drug left a blank spot in his mind. Every time he tried to reconstruct his thinking, his mind would immediately fall apart into a plethora of distractions. He couldn't focus on any one line of thinking for longer than a single moment. It was frustrating and discouraging. Don felt like the answers were right there, but he couldn't make his mind focus long enough to grasp them.

"One more go," Don said. "One more dosage and I could have the answers."

His plan was met with glares.

"They weren't kidding when they said this stuff is addictive," Colby muttered.

"I only need it long enough to find out how to help Charlie. Then I'll never touch the stuff again."

"Not a chance, Don," David said.

"Look, you guys don't get it," Don tried to argue but was immediately cut off by Megan's authoritative tone.

"It's not an option. One more word about it and we'll go to Merrick. We've talked about this. We're aware of the side effects. Don't think you can convince us otherwise."

"Yeah, remind me who's in charge of this team?" Don asked defeatedly.

"Sorry, Don," David said. "Focus is the easy way. We need to do this the right way."

"Charlie may not have time for that. His doctors are talking to my dad about moving him to a permanent rehab center."

"It won't be permanent once we find the cure," Colby said. "Did we learn anything new from yesterday's…experiment?

"Don said he needed to go to CalSci because he knew how to find the distributor." Megan still sounded hesitant and watched Don with a critical eye.

"So, do we go to CalSci?" Colby asked.

Don shook his head. "I won't be able to find him without Focus."

"Which you aren't getting any more of," Megan said automatically.

The three of them fell into silence, thinking.

"Is there anything you remember from yesterday?" Colby asked. "Anything you remember at all?"

Don stared at his feet. Once again, he was overcome with the frustrating feeling of having all the answers just out of his grasp. He tried to think but his mind was overcome with distracting interruptions. Now a headache joined the confusing jumble.

"If I could just concentrate, but when I think about the last few days, it's like my mind can't settle down and worry about one thing at a time."

Megan sat up straight. "Trouble focusing?"

"Yeah."

"That is one thing I can help fix. Let's go, Eppes."


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5: Focus

Charlie felt himself drift toward consciousness. He fought it. Consciousness meant confusion and pain. His mind felt like it was trying to solve hundreds of math problems at the same time. He jumped from equation to equation, never settling on one long enough to make any progress.

Opening his eyes, Charlie saw his father by his bedside. Before he could reach out to him, Charlie was distracted by movement in the doorway. He tried to determine the cause, but the medical devices began to beep.

The distractions kept coming. Charlie couldn't find answers. He couldn't even hold his eyes steady on one thing. His vision kept flickering around the room from the lights to the machines to the people. Every movement of his pupils sent waves of pain into his head.

"M…make…s…stop." He tried to talk but could hardly remember the words.

Charlie was losing his mind.

He felt wetness tickling his face. Was he crying? Before he could answer that question, he felt a soft touch and wondered if it was his father. That thought was immediately replaced by the pricking of a needle. Charlie looked up to see a doctor straightening up, a syringe in his hand. Why was he here? Charlie didn't even know where he was.

Before he'd gained a single answer, Charlie fell once again into unconsciousness.

\- O -

Don sat in the dark conference room, his hands resting on the table in front of him. He breathed deep, long breaths in and out.

"Good, Don. Just try to relax," Megan said.

Instead of calming Don down, Megan's words resulted in a tense laugh from Don.

"Relax? Charlie may never recover, and you want me to relax?"

"Don, this won't work unless you can focus—without the drug," she added when Don gave her a look. "The answers to helping Charlie could still be in your mind. I'm going to help you access them. Do you trust me?"

"I do," Don said.

"Good. Close your eyes."

Don obeyed, and his world went from partially dark to completely black.

"I want you to remember how you felt two days ago."

"It's all mixed up in my head," Don said, opening one eye to glare at Megan.

"Don't think about being on the drug. Concentrate on before that. Think about going to Colby's house."

An image of Colby's front door appeared in Don's mind. He remembered the agent greeting him and his nervousness at Don's plan. He could almost hear their argument as he told Colby what he planned to do, and Colby's insistence that they call Megan and David.

"Do you remember when I arrived?" Megan asked.

Don nodded. "You came with David. I organized the files on the table and took the pills."

Like a video playing through his head, Don saw what happened next. He remembered reading through the material. He could remember what it felt like to have complete concentration. The connections between their investigation and Charlie's research were obvious. If his memory faltered, Megan would guide him back with a question or comment.

"What did you do after David and Colby went to arrest the suspect?" Megan asked.

"I started going over the notes from the Focus case," Don said. "There wasn't a lot to work with, not like the serial killer case."

"What did you need in order to continue?"

"I needed the distributor that sold Charlie the drug. I had to find him on CalSci's campus."

Even with his eyes closed, Don could sense Megan leaning forward in anticipation for the next piece of information.

"How were you going to find the distributor, Don?"

Thinking about the research, the answer came easily.

"The distributor would be on campus from midmorning until shortly after lunch. Judging from the witness interviews, the distributor was likely posing as a student to get access to campus."

"What makes him stand out from the other students?" Megan asked.

"We had no record of him attending any classes or even carrying any books. He would look like a student, but he wouldn't have a backpack, notebooks, or any of the other tools students carry."

Don opened his eyes. "That's all I remember."

Megan stared at him for a second longer, then her face broke into a grin.

"We got it," she said. "Let's go find the distributor."

Don glanced at his watch. "It's almost lunch. If he is on campus, he won't be there for much longer."

Standing, Megan said, "Then we'd better hurry."

\- O -

Megan drove with Don in the passenger seat. Colby and David followed in the car behind.

"I think you're the first case of someone being able to recall their own thoughts and actions while being on Focus," Megan said.

Since the interview, Don found that his mind was less jumbled than before. He felt more like he did before taking Focus. And he no longer craved the drug. The recovery was the only reason he'd been allowed to come to CalSci. His team was still worried about other side effects. Don insisted he was fine, but they still monitored him for unusual behavior or symptoms.

"Megan, what you did for me, do you think it would work on Charlie?"

Slowing at a stoplight, Megan took the opportunity to look over at Don.

"I don't think it would work," she said. "You only had to remember two days. Charlie was on the drug for weeks. Even with his brilliant mind, he can't organize all his thoughts and actions while he was on Focus."

Don nodded. It was the answer he'd expected, but it was still difficult to hear.

They arrived at the campus and parked. Hopping out of the vehicles, the FBI agents stared at the sea of students.

Colby gave a low whistle. "Maybe lunch hour isn't the right time to do this."

"We can't wait another day," Don said. "Let's split up. We all have the description. Look for anyone that isn't carrying a backpack or school supplies."

Without waiting, Don moved onto the crowded sidewalk and began scanning the students around him. Everyone carried books, binders, notebooks, bags, pens, pencils, purses, and other gear that identified them as students.

Don passed a security guard and nodded. David had called ahead and alerted campus security to what they were doing and who they were looking for. This officer would keep an eye on the parking lot for anyone matching the description.

Drawn by habit, Don soon found himself outside the math and sciences building. Charlie's office was in there. He couldn't count how many times he'd come here with case files or just to enjoy lunch with his brother. Today felt so different than any other time he'd come.

He reached for the door handle, but it opened from the other side. A young man stepped out. Seeing Don, he moved to the side and held the door open. Don stepped passed with a muttered, "Thanks." Then he paused and took a second look at the student. Was he a student? He didn't carry any books. He didn't even look like he had a pen.

"Do you go here?" Don asked, trying to hide his suspicion.

The man shrugged. "Why? Are you lost?"

"I'm looking for someone," Don said.

"You might want to check with student services."

"I never said I was looking for a student."

The young man shrugged, still holding the door. "Look, I need to go. I hope you find who you're looking for."

"Hold on," Don said, stepping out of the way as the door started to swing shut. "I'm looking for someone who may have information about a very dangerous drug known as Focus."

Don spoke the words slowly and deliberately, watching the young man for any sign of recognition. He saw the eyes widen and the throat move as the kid swallowed.

"You know anything about that?" Don asked.

The kid turned and ran. Don chased. While sprinting, he called to his team on the radio.

"All units, he's moving north on the sidewalk from the math building."

He listened for the confirmation from his team then ran at full speed. The kid was young and fast and outpaced Don, but he couldn't dodge Colby who blocked his path and tackled him to the ground. Don caught up just in time for the agent to pull a familiar pill bottle out of the kid's pocket.

"You're going to need to come with us," Colby said, handcuffing the kid and pulling him up off the ground.

\- O -

Back at the FBI offices, Don and Colby watched as Megan and David interrogated the suspect.

His name was Ross White. He began dealing after dropping out of CalSci at the end of last semester. His knowledge of the campus made him the perfect person to distribute Focus. They had learned all this but had yet to learn anything about the manufacturer.

As he watched Megan threaten Ross about the consequences of drug dealing, Don's phone rang. He looked down to see that his father was trying to contact him. He answered immediately.

"Dad? What's going on?"

Alan's voice sounded dry and hollow. "You need to get down here. Charlie's getting worse."

The words caused a horrible flipping sensation in Don's gut. Worse? How could he be worse?

"It might be too late for the rehab facility. Charlie won't wake up. They've been monitoring his brain functions. Things aren't looking good."

Next to him, Colby stared at Don. He must have seen the color drain from his face. He placed a steadying hand on Don's arm.

"What do you mean?"

"Charlie doesn't have much longer. Larry and Amita are on their way. You need to come down as well to…to say goodbye."

How Don managed to stay standing after that statement was a mystery. He could hardly feel his legs.

"Donnie?"

If his father had said anything else, Don didn't hear it. He dropped the phone, not even bothering to hang up first. Throughout the conversation, Don had been staring at Ross White, the man who was killing his brother.

It was as if Don was still on Focus. He ignored Colby and any other distractions. He had one purpose. Make Ross White tell him how to save Charlie.

Don stepped into the interrogation room, startling Megan, David, and even Ross. Stepping up to the table, Don slammed his hands flat, the noise and sudden movement causing Ross to jump. Then Don let his full temper loose.

"HE'S DYING! MY BROTHER IS DYING! TELL ME HOW TO SAVE HIM!"

Don screamed into Ross's face, spit flying with every enunciated word. He could feel his team trying to pull him back, but he fought them.

"I WILL KILL YOU IF HE DIES! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I WILL KILL YOU!"

Ross cowered in his chair, eyes wide with shock and fear as he watched Don trying to come at him. He breathed erratically and even a few shocked tears fell down his cheek.

"TELL ME HOW TO SAVE HIM!" Don screamed again.

"Okay."

The answer was so quiet, Don almost missed it. He froze. So did his team. They all looked at Ross and he said again, "Okay. I'll tell you where I got it from."

\- O -

Don stopped at the hospital to tell his dad he needed to work. Charlie was out cold again. Larry and Amita sat by his side. They spoke in hushed voices to the unconscious figure on the bed. Alan asked Don if he would like to say anything, but Don turned away. He told himself that Charlie would be awake and healthy soon. He would talk to him all he wanted then.

Don rejoined his team several blocks away from the location of the drug lab. SWAT and several local LEOs were preparing for the raid.

"How's Charlie?" Megan asked, knowing why Don was late.

"He'll be fine as soon as we get the manufacturer. You ready?" Don finished strapping on his vest.

Megan nodded. David and Colby appeared by her side.

"Reports say they have a guy out front watching the street," David explained.

Don stuck a piece of gum in his mouth. "Okay, let everyone know, no lethal force unless absolutely necessary. I want all these guys taken alive, is that clear?"

His team confirmed they understood.

"Alright," Don said, preparing his weapon. "Megan, you're with me. David and Colby, come in right after. SWAT is with us. LEOs watch the street. Let's move."

They crept up the road, staying in shadows. The sun had set, and darkness was falling fast. It gave them extra cover as they moved toward the building. A block away, Don signaled two of the SWAT team. They moved forward. The next thing Don knew, they were silently ushering the guard away.

Don and Megan positioned themselves outside the door. They made eye contact and Megan nodded. Don tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. With one last confirming look at Megan, he threw open the door and burst inside.

"FBI! Don't move!"

Figures froze where they stood. Some tried to run but SWAT was on them before they could take ten steps. Don grabbed the nearest suspect. Within minutes everyone in the room was detained. Don and Megan began making their way further into the building.

They passed through more rooms with lab equipment set up on tables. Steam rose from some of the uncovered beakers. The agents were careful to clear each room, checking for suspects. They met no one until they reached the back room. This door was locked. Don stepped back and raised his leg. He kicked hard, and the door swung open. Two men inside looked up. In front of them was a table covered in cash. A machine still counted out a bundle of hundred-dollar bills.

"FBI. Put your hands up and step away from the table," Don ordered, weapon held out in front of him and pointed at the suspects.

They didn't put up a fight as Don cuffed them and handed them over to a couple of officers. Megan was looking at the cash.

"There must be at least half a million dollars in here," she said in awe.

Don said nothing. He wondered how much of that money came from Charlie. He turned and headed back out to the main room. Vials of chemicals sat on tables. He also saw bottles of familiar white pills.

"Let's call in the CSI and the lab," he said. "I want all of this analyzed."

Before he could say more, David appeared at his side, a grim expression on his face.

"Don, Merrick just called. Your dad couldn't get a hold of you, so he called the office instead."

A horrible weight fell into Don's gut at the words. He could barely hear David over the sound of his heart hammering in his ears.

"Charlie still won't wake up. The doctors say he's slipped into a coma. They don't know if he'll come out of it."

Don stepped back involuntarily and felt a solid surface behind him. A table. It was the only thing holding him up at that moment.

He was too late.

Charlie was lost.

Don hadn't found the cure in time. The drug had eroded Charlie's brilliant mind until there was nothing left.

Nearby, something crashed. The sound of breaking glass jarred Don from his panicked thoughts.

"I…I need to go," Don said.

"I'll drive you," Megan said, taking hold of his arm.

Don shook her off. He knew she would take him to the hospital. He wasn't going to the hospital. What was he supposed to do there? Watch Charlie until he succumbed to nothingness?

He started feeling light-headed. There was a strange aroma filling the room. His eyes felt dry and he blinked, working to get enough moisture so he could see. But his vision was blurry. His ears began to ring and then his muscles felt light, too light to hold him up. He thought he could hear his teammates shouting at him. Before Don could respond, he collapsed, both to the floor of the Focus factory and into mindless oblivion.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6: Forgiveness

The rhythmic beeping woke him up, loud and painful in his ears. How long had he been asleep? That wasn't the alarm clock, was it? Something felt off. His limbs felt too heavy to move. Even his eyelids felt too heavy to open. Worst of all was the gap in his memories. He couldn't remember where he was or how he got here.

"Wake up, son," said a familiar, loving voice. "It's all right. You can wake up now."

At last, he managed to open his eyes. He saw his father's face hovering above him.

"Dad?" The word came out as barely a whisper. He felt so tired.

His dad's face was replaced by a stranger—a doctor. The man listened to his breathing and checked his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked.

He felt too tired to answer but mustered the energy to shrug. His head felt foggy and oddly blank. There was still that dark gap in his memory he couldn't seem to fill.

"That's all right," the doctor said. "You just rest."

His father's face reappeared, worry creasing his eyes even though he was smiling. "You're going to be okay now. Your brother will be all right as well." He reached out and smoothed the dark hair. "You just rest, Charlie. You're going to be okay."

\- O -

As soon as Don was released, he went to Charlie's room. He'd been anxious to go since being admitted to the hospital. His reaction to the chemicals in the lab was not as severe as he'd first believed after collapsing. But he still had to stay overnight for observation to make sure he didn't have any unexpected reactions. The good news was that once Don was released, he was already in the same building as his father and brother.

Upon entering his brother's room, Don saw Alan bent over Charlie's bed, smoothing his dark curls.

"How is he?" Don asked.

"Much better, thanks to you," Alan said. He straightened up and faced Don. "But if you ever pull something like that again, you will certainly regret it."

Don smirked and prepared a comeback but froze before the sarcastic words could leave his mouth. His father wasn't joking. The worry on his face was genuine.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I know what I did was stupid, but I couldn't let Charlie die." Alan had found out about Don's experiment with Focus. It had contributed to his collapse at the lab. Not all the drug had been eliminated from Don's system. Don breathing in the airborne chemicals had caused the reaction.

"So instead you put yourself at risk," Alan chastised. "The doctors said that even the small amount of that drug you took was enough to knock you out at the crime scene."

"I didn't know that was going to happen. It was an unexpected reaction." Don signed, feeling guilty. "At least I made the perfect human guinea pig to test out the antidote."

Alan snorted. "That's supposed to make me feel better?" He turned around and stared down at his youngest. "Both of my boys are alive. I supposed that makes me feel better."

Don walked up and put his arm around his father's shoulder. He looked at Charlie's face, peacefully resting on the crisp white hospital pillow. "We'll all feel better soon."

\- O -

Charlie was released from the hospital a week after he woke up. The doctors had wanted to monitor the effects of the Focus antidote. When he didn't show any adverse reactions, they finally let him go home.

If Charlie thought he would find freedom there, he was wrong. Alan hovered over his son as if he expected him to pass out at any moment.

"Dad, I'm fine," Charlie said, finally frustrated by Alan's attentions.

Alan didn't even blink an eye. "You aren't…craving?"

Over his time at the hospital, parts of Charlie's missing memory had come back to him. He remembered buying the drug and taking the pills. He had flashes of standing at chalkboards, but nothing he remembered made him the least bit interested in taking Focus again.

"Not at all. I'm done with that," he said. He turned back to what he was working on. Larry and Amita had taken photographs of all the chalkboards in every classroom he'd worked in. There was enough work buried in the math equations and formulas spread across to the boards to keep him busy for months. He'd need all the time he could spare to sort out the work.

"Are you sure you're thinking is okay? The doctors said you might still experience instances where you have trouble concentrating."

"You mean like when my father keeps distracting me?" Charlie said jokingly. "I promise I'm fine."

Alan raised his hands in surrender and turned toward the kitchen. His exit was followed by Don coming in the front door of the Craftsman.

"Hey, Chuck. What are you working on?"

Charlie heaved an exasperated sigh. "I'm trying to go through these math equations, but I seem to have trouble with distractions."

He looked up to see that Don's face had turned white.

"Not like that," he said. "The kind of distractions made up of overly-concerned family. Dad was in here a second ago making sure I was all right."

Don sat down at the dining room table in the chair opposite of Charlie. "We're just worried, buddy. Seeing you in the hospital like that leaves a bad impression."

At his words, Charlie let the annoyance fade. His dad and brother were really scared for him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "What I did was wrong."

"It's okay, buddy. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Yeah, but I put you in danger too," he said. "I still can't believe you took Focus and made them give you the antidote first. What if it hadn't worked?"

Don shrugged. "That's not exactly what happened. Sure, I took focus. It just meant I reacted badly to the chemicals in the lab we busted. We're both going to have to be careful over the next few months until all the drug is completely out of our systems. You may have to watch yourself for years."

"This could have been a lot worse," Charlie said soberly.

"We got really lucky, buddy," Don agreed.

Charlie thought of all the victims of Focus that weren't so lucky—students at CalSci and other universities. He'd be apologizing to Larry for weeks before the man would forgive him.

"At least no one else has to suffer from the effects of Focus."

Don grimaced. "We busted one lab, Charlie. Do you know how many more are out there?"

"I could probably figure it out. If I looked at clusters of drug victims, I could identify where else the drug is being produced."

"I think I know someone at the DEA who would be interested in that data," Don said with a smile, thinking of Aubrey.

Charlie grinned back. "Think I can do it without taking drugs this time?"

Don shook his head. "Without a doubt, Charlie. Without a doubt."

The End

\- O -

**I apologize for taking so long before posting this final chapter. A combination of real-life and other factors prevented me from publishing this sooner. I hope those who finish reading this story find the ending satisfactory.**


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